


I'm Sorry

by pocketsebastian



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Post Reichenbach, i blame s3 promo, minor character exploration, not sherstrade but sherstrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-03
Updated: 2013-08-03
Packaged: 2017-12-22 06:39:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/910101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pocketsebastian/pseuds/pocketsebastian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock returns. He's always known how John would react, and he had a basic grasp on how Mrs. Hudson and Mycroft would take it. But one person he never put much thought towards was Greg. After John tells (orders) him to tell the ex-DI, Sherlock has some time to reflect on Greg and his relationship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'm Sorry

He’d already seen John. John _knew_ he was alive. John had already beat the shit out of him, told him how fucking _idiotic_ he was, and had then patched him up. After that, John had asked who all knew, who still didn’t know, why Sherlock had done it, _how_ Sherlock had done it. Each question, Sherlock answered calmly and without hesitation. It was all information John was entitled to, after all. With everything Sherlock had put him through. The list of people who already knew Sherlock was alive was relatively small. Molly, Mrs. Hudson, Mycroft. John had faltered, though, when Sherlock had said that Greg still was unaware of the fact he was alive.

So, with John’s stern order to go tell the ex-DI-now-sergeant, who had every right to know what John knew now, Sherlock was seated in a cab which was under strict orders to go straight to Greg’s home and to not deviate in any way, no matter what Sherlock said.

Of course the instructions came from John.

With a good hour or so to kill (traffic was at an all-time peak and Sherlock was steadily cursing it by the minute) Sherlock was left to his thoughts.

The thoughts drifted from his travels in the years he was gone and to the things he’d done and people he’d met and worked with briefly, and then to more mundane thoughts, like moving back into 221b, making it announced that he was alive and well to the world and not a fraud. As he thought, though, something stood out.

In all his time being away, he’d thought plenty of how he was going to tell John, how John would react, that he was alive.

He hadn’t put one thought towards how Greg would.

The thought usually wouldn’t spark much of a fear through Sherlock. He didn’t _have_ to think about how other people would react. John’s reaction was usually the one that mattered. John was the one who pointed out what was good, what was not good, what was downright incorrigible. Why should Sherlock put any thought towards how someone as pointless as Greg?

Of course, Greg _wasn’t_ pointless.

Because Moriarty had targeted him, hadn’t he? He’d known that the man would garner a reaction just as John and Mrs. Hudson had. He’d _known_ that Greg wasn’t pointless, that he mattered to Sherlock.

There was reason to put thought towards him.

Greg had pulled him out of the gutter, all those years ago. When Sherlock was raw and live like a wire, high out of his mind on whatever he could get into his system. Greg had been the one to put him up for a few nights; to see him through the worst of the withdrawals when Sherlock was living on his own; to visit him in rehab when Mycroft was too busy with his own life and work to bother.

And after Sherlock had gotten clean, had stopped resembling something disgusting and worthless on the bottom of one’s shoe, Greg had still helped him. He’d seen that Sherlock had potential. John had told him what Greg had said at once.

_“Why did he do that, why did he have to leave?”_

_“You know him better than I do.”_

_“I’ve known him for five years and no I don’t.”_

_“So why do you put up with him?”_

_“Because I’m desperate, that’s why. Because Sherlock Holmes is a great man, and I think one day—if we’re very very lucky—he might even be a good one.”_

He’d always thought him as great, had always seen him as having potential to be good. Greg knew he had potential; that he wasn’t just some emotionless machine hell-bent on causing people misery.

Sherlock paled at the thought, aware that for once, he was indeed afraid. He’d never fully experienced the feeling, except one other time. During the whole process of Moriarty, there had been just one instance where Sherlock was afraid, and that had been on the rooftop of Bart’s.

_“You’re insane.”_

_“You’re just getting that now? Okay, let me give you a little extra incentive. Your friends will die if you don’t.”_

_“John?”_

_“Everyone.”_

_“Mrs. Hudson?”_

_“Everyone.”_

_“Lestrade?”_

_“Three bullets. Three gunmen. Three victims. There’s no stopping them now. Unless my people see you jump. You can have me arrested, you can torture me. You can do anything you like with me, but nothing’s going to prevent them from pulling the trigger. Your only three friends in the world will die.”_

Actual fear had coursed through him at the thought. There was no doubt in his mind that without the three people, without Mrs. Hudson and John and Greg, he would be as he was. There was no way he could go on knowing that he’d been the cause of their death.

Sherlock was aware that the cab had pulled to a final stop, and the cabbie gave a cough, hinting at Sherlock to pay. Sherlock was shaking as he handed over some bills, not really paying attention to how much he had given the cabbie. Most likely far more than necessary. (Not that it mattered. The cabbie obviously needed it and Sherlock had no need for money at the moment. The cabbie had children, that was obvious, and he was no doubt working this as a third job.)

His legs felt like lead and jelly at the same time as he walked to the front door, and his heart was hammering in his chest when he knocked on the front door. Distantly, Sherlock was aware that his cheeks were wet, but he would never admit that it was from tears.

The door opened, and before Sherlock stood a withered man. Dark circles were underneath the man’s eyes. Greg had been overworking himself. This was most likely his first day off in months, possibly since Sherlock’s ‘death’. Brief confusion was on the sergeant’s face before it was replaced by comprehension and disbelief.

“Sher—“ Greg started, before the consulting detective was slumped against him, struggling to pull himself out of the heap of emotions that were overwhelming him. Greg could feel the man press his face into his chest, and he hesitantly brought his arms up and around Sherlock, wrapping him and pulling him into a tight hug. Gently, Greg hushed him, knowing that this was one of the rare moments Sherlock was showing emotion and later he’d deny noticing the shaking and sharp inhales and gasps. He’d deny the wet patch on his shirt that was from tears, instead suggesting he’d splashed water on himself when washing his hands. Greg would deny hearing Sherlock’s soft whisper of, “I’m sorry,” and pretend that he’d heard nothing.

**Author's Note:**

> So I don't really know how/why this came up. I've always thought about how Sherlock would tell Greg he's back, and Greg has always been one of my favourite character's so it was pretty easy to work this out. But the s3 promo really got me into wanting to write it. Everyone knows (or figures) how John would react, but I see very few people consider how Greg would handle the return. Or how Sherlock would handle it with certain people. In short I just have a lot of feelings about Greg and Sherlock's relationship and I needed an excuse to write it.


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